People say it’s hard at the top, but it’s even harder at the bottom.
The media sells it and you live the role.
Suicide is the only way out.
I used to fantasize that Paul McCartney would marry my sister.
In those days, if you wanted a new car or a holiday, you’d phone up the office and they’d send you some cash. You never had a bank account. I don’t know anyone from the music business in the Seventies that it didn’t happen to.
I’ll buy myself some plastic water, I should have married Lennon’s daughter.
Execution halts your breath, helter skelter spiral death.
Black illusion is all I ever see.
Just another lonely broken hero picking up the pieces of my mind. Running out of faith and hope and reason, I’m running out of time.
If I could have just one more wish, I’d wipe the cobwebs from my eyes.
I can see thru mountains watch me disappear, I can even touch the sky. Swallowing the colors of the sounds I hear, am I just a crazy guy? You bet.
In the early days, you would get skinheads, the Eagles and Black Sabbath playing the same show.
I’m not the kind of person you think I am, I’m not the anti-Christ, or the iron man.
Still, one of the few good things about being dyslexic is that when I say I don’t read reviews, I mean I don’t read reviews.
The funny thing is, I was never much of a fighter. Better a live coward than a dead hero, that was my motto.
In the Seventies I was so scared I wouldn’t go on stage.
If that’s the only thing that’s stopping war then thank God for the bomb.
You gotta be really careful what you bite off. Don’t bite off more than you can chew. It’s a dangerous world.
I’m not trying to twist people’s heads around. I’m not trying to say, “Believe in me.”
I am going through changes.